


humans of not york

by markerlimes (sunmi)



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: M/M, Model AU, Retirement AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunmi/pseuds/markerlimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seungyoon doesn’t mean to rip off Humans of New York. It just sort of happens, plus or minus the designer clothes and that one dude who starts living on their couch. (what happens after models retire au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	humans of not york

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily set in NYC but with a lot of creative liberties taken.  Thank you e & r for holding my hand ;; why was everything so difficult T_______T uriga winner ;;
> 
> originally posted [here](http://winnerexchange.livejournal.com/7552.html), written for [](http://idolkiller.livejournal.com/profile)[**idolkiller**](http://idolkiller.livejournal.com/) for [](http://winnerexchange.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://winnerexchange.livejournal.com/)**winnerexchange** 2015!

 

 

 

 

In a stroke of rather callous irony, Seungyoon gets his contract terminated by the modeling agency around the same time he’s getting ready for dinner. The phone rings, he rinses his hands in the sink, and then he loses his appetite.

 

 

 

It’s not that big of a deal, honestly.

It’s not really the end of the world either, besides the fact that it’s mid-November in New York and not being able to pay the bills is the difference between a miserable winter and a _really_ fucking miserable winter.

Seungyoon knows that he and Jinwoo have enough in their accounts to survive winter, but that just means Christmas Day will most likely end up pretty dreary. On the plus side, it can’t be any worse than college when Seungyoon spent two weeks practically living in the NYU library in a last ditch effort to duck away from the cold.

But still, everything comes at a price when you’re living New York dreams whether it’s paying New York rent or getting your ass fired from an unstable six year job for no apparent reason besides the fact that there will always be younger faces in the crowd and the last time Seungyoon checked, his wasn’t getting any more youthful.

Seungyoon tosses the pasta ( _low carb, low fat, low everything_ ) out, killing the fire on the stove. The iron sizzles for a moment in the sink as he runs cool water over the back of the pan. The steam from the pot warms his face for a moment.

The apartment kitchen suddenly feels so small, suffocating. Seungyoon dumps the remainder of the dishes into the sink and grabs his keys off the counter.

He pauses to scribble a note for Jinwoo on the fridge.

_Out for a breather. Will be home late.  
Sorry about the mess in the kitchen. I’ll do 2x dishes._

It’s freezing outside even with the sun still fully out and Seungyoon squeezes his way past the crowds to make it down to the subway station. He’s not sure where he’s headed or what he’s doing, besides the fact that he just needs to be _out._

He ambles down the stairs, fingers hovering on the speed dial. Half-way down the into the subway station, he settles for a text instead and plunges himself into the current of miserable New Yorkers fighting rush hour traffic. The push and pull of bodies is something Seungyoon’s more or less used to, but it’s still sort of amazes him how he can ride the train and not make eye contact with another person even though he’s effectively squeezed next to them for over 20 minutes.

The capability New Yorkers have to block out their surroundings will forever be impressive.

 

 

 

The thing about modeling is that the good almost always outweighs the bad. Seungyoon would go months without booking jobs, feeling ugly and living off of low sodium ramen canteens and celery sticks, and then he’d book a job that would pay rent for the entire year.

It’s almost like an abusive relationship. The kind where you’d stay in it pinned to the hope that something great will eventually happen. And the sad part is, it does, but it’s horribly fleeting. At the end of the day, Seungyoon will wander empty-handed through the snow from the studio to the 14th street subway stop and wonder if any of it is even worth the trouble.

The down times are still the worst, though.

The rejection gets easier, but the only days when Seungyoon calls Taehyun to grab coffee are the ones where he’s dismissed even before he even hands them his portfolio- which is why Taehyun shows up at the corner Starbucks, a place he had solemnly sworn to never set foot in, looking more worried than Seungyoon knew he was capable of expressing.

It takes Seungyoon a couple tries to spit out the story, starting with a nice preamble about how he was totally fine with it and all before Taehyun predictably, snaps.

“Just give it to me straight. Seungyoon what’s going on?”

Seungyoon stares into his coffee, eyeing the half-soaked cream and uneven chocolate swirls. Starbucks never does proper latte art. It’s one of the many things about the place that Taehyun loathes.

“They cut my contract.” He sees Taehyun nod, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I mean I had a feeling when they signed on the new kids, but yeah I’ve got like two weeks to sort of figure it out, if even that.”

“That’s fucked up.” is Taehyun’s first response followed by. “Can they even do that? Isn’t that the point of a contract?”

“Apparently,” Seungyoon sighs. He raises his hands to form quotes into the air. “It was an _at-will_ contract so that gives them the right to fire me whenever and however.”

“Should have read that more carefully when you signed it, huh.”

“I was 19 and trying to pay for college,” Seungyoon retorts. He settles into his armchair, deflating. “And this was definitely before we took that one business law course.”

Taehyun pauses, squinting a little in interest. “Do you think we could get them fined for unconscionability?”

“Wait, what? No. I’m not looking to sue,” Seungyoon grumbles. “I’m not even sure I want my job back.”

Taehyun sniffs, turning his face to carefully eye Seungyoon. “So, what then what?”

Seungyoon shrugs. It’s probably snowing outside, the walk back to the apartment is going to be hell. At this point, he’s not sure Taehyun is here to sympathize with him or make Seungyoon feel somehow even shittier about the whole situation.

“Please learn to pick a less shitty coffee stop,” Taehyun comments with an offhanded air. He removes the lid of his cup and gives the remaining foam a disdainful look. “I mean Starbucks, really?”

Seungyoon shrugs again. The drink in his hands is no longer even that warm. He takes a cautious sip anyways. “It was the closest one.”

The words, “and we’re poor,” don’t need to be said when it’s a solemn reminder on all of their shoulders in the shape of this season’s furs and the texture of sleek silk. Even when they did book jobs, it was good to be cautious with money. _It’s nice to play pretend_ , Seungyoon thinks even though his paycheck doesn’t play along.

The bank even less so.

Taehyun eyes his latte with growing disdain, but takes a sip anyways as he waits for Seungyoon to continue.

“We can’t model forever,” he muses and Taehyun raises an immaculate brow. His middle-part shifts ever so slightly as he cocks his head to look at Seungyoon carefully.

“No shit,” he replies a little astounded. Seungyoon can hear the alarm in his voice, as he peers at Seungyoon carefully. Taehyun leans forward, the image of brooding concern.

“Seungyoon-” he starts, voice cautious.

“I just hadn’t really thought about it, okay?”

Slowly Taehyun settles back into his chair, but the concern in his eyes doesn’t leave. “Well now might be a good time. What do you need?”

 

 

 

Jinwoo never turns on any lights when he’s alone in the apartment, leaving Seungyoon to stumble back home in the dark. His shoe hits the corner of the wall, sending Seungyoon stumbling into the walls. From that point on, he does a careful job of weaving past their collective pile of shoes and the casual mess on the floors.

Jinwoo is snoring softly on the couch, huddle into a little ball on the couch by the time Seungyoon makes it home. The only reason Seungyoon even finds him half the time is by chance. This time, he drops his bag on the couch and the pile of blankets lets out a very Jinwoo-esque squeak- inaudible to everyone except maybe Seungyoon.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately picking the bag off and taking a seat to the ragged arm chair next to it. Layer by layer, Jinwoo slowly digs himself out of the blankets, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“You didn’t turn on the heat?” Seungyoon asks. Jinwoo shakes his head, a little reproachful.

“S’not really worth it,” Jinwoo mumbles sleepily. “I have blankets.”

He scoots a little to the side to give Seungyoon some room to crash beside him. Seungyoon sinks into the couch and wonders where to begin. The fabric of the couch is itchy, rubbing rough against his elbow as he settles himself down further into the cushions. He doesn't remember the last time they cleaned it, or anything in the apartment really.

“Did you finish your errand from earlier?” Jinwoo asks, the tip of his head peeking out from his mountain of blankets. Seungyoon sucks in a breath.

Jinwoo for the most part offers less interjections that Taehyun, eagerly nodding and eyes filled with hope that dim slightly as Seungyoon explains the situation.

“Oh,” Jinwoo starts and Seungyoon holds his breath.

“Oh?”

“Oh,” Jinwoo repeats. He looks surprisingly unruffled. “I get why you're upset, but I mean, we’ve been off projects for so long. I sort of figured that this doesn’t really even change anything.”

He bites his lips as Seungyoon gives him another look. Although he might not have looked the part, Jinwoo had been the oldest model of the youth division- too old to compete with the diehard youngsters and too baby-faced to set foot anywhere near GQ.

The first time Seungyoon met Jinwoo, the two had been shooting for the junior division and Jinwoo had bowed to him furiously, each and every time they walked past each other. It wasn’t until two months later when Seungyoon snuck a look at his passport on their way to London for the 2013 Fall Show did he realize that Jinwoo was _older_ than him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jinwoo had shrugged, somehow looking even younger than normal in his too large sweater with his skinny collarbones peeking out. “Everyone thinks I’m younger anyways so I just act the part that they want.”

Act or not, it doesn’t change the fact that Jinwoo is over two years older than him and it shows in the way he takes Seungyoon’s newfound unemployment with surprising calm.

“We’ll just find something else to do,” Jinwoo says after a moment. He places his hand and gives Seungyoon two very awkward pats, stroking down the length of his shoulder.

“Like what,” Seungyoon wilts, digging himself deeper under the woolen blankets. The chill from the floorboard sweeps into the room, making them both shiver.

The thing is: Seungyoon doesn’t have any other transferable skills. He knows ‘ _smile, relax, tilt your head back, three-quarters pose please_ ’ like the back of his hand, but he's been immersed in that world for so long that anything outside the realm of fake lights, layers of foundation and sterile catwalks seems daunting now.

“We’ll find something,” Jinwoo echoes, probably because he doesn’t have a clue either, but to Seungyoon’s ears it’s almost sounds like optimism. Another cold draft sneaks through the door. Jinwoo sneezes, blurrily running a hand through his hair.

"Sure," Seungyoon mutters. He doesn't mean to sounds so dreary, but it's hard not to when he's been dumped on his ass literally in the dead of winter. Jinwoo frowns, the corners of his lips disappearing into his mountain of blankets.

"We have industry connections," he points out helpfully. "Also tons of experience with clothes and brands, now. It wasn't all a waste."

"Uh huh." Seungyoon tilts his head back in favor of eyeing the ceiling. There's a bit of the ceiling flaking from water damage from the floor above. Seungyoon's been waiting to hear back from maintenance to get it patched up for months now.

"Seungyoon," Jinwoo sighs, rising to his feet to shuffle down the hallway. Seungyoon glances back over at him miserably as Jinwoo tugs at his sleeve. "It's too cold for this. Let's just go to sleep and figure it out in the morning."

Seungyoon stumbles after him, parting ways to dive under his blankets in his own room. The promise of sleep is a lie. The sheets are colder than anything Seungyoon's ever felt against his bare skin and he forcibly bites back a pitiful whimper.

Winter is going to suck. There's no way around it. He and Jinwoo will freeze to death before spring manages to make it around the corner. The newspapers will write a short, unremarkable obituary for him, but at least Seungyoon hopes his picture will be some type of dazzling. His socked feet kick at the clothes piled on the edge of his bed. For a brief, delirious moment Seungyoon sincerely hopes they won't photograph his bedroom or any part of their apartment.

He pauses, fingers growing stiff from the cold when something tugs at the corner of his mind.

Gingerly, he sneaks a hand out, bracing it against the cold as he reaches under the bed. His fingertips dig into the dust coating the wood floor, scrabbling around blindly until he finds a box- tugging at it until it comes loose.

The cover of the cardboard is dusty and Seungyoon carefully lifts it to uncover the item inside. He blows the dust away and lifts the camera into his hands. The screen flickers on, blinking at him with a machine tiredness Seungyoon can relate to at this hour of night. It’s an old camera, dated back from college when he’d taken a few beginners photography classes for his visual arts credits. To see it flicker back to life at all is a relief in itself.

Steadily, Seungyoon raises it to eye level looking through the viewfinder even though there’s nothing but pitch black on the other end.

The flash goes off in his room like lightning, a small spark of light before the darkness consumes the room once more. Slowly the screen processes the shot: a blank white wall slightly dimpled with old, vacant nail holes.

Seungyoon sets the camera down after a pause. He feels no more inspired than before, but it’s something.

New York is a cruel mistress.

The kind that’ll dress you in furs, real leather, and high-end silks for over six years. The type to get you all comfortable- lathering your wrists in lily perfume and sliding them into golden handcuffs in same movement until the weight of the chains felt so natural that it left regular days bitterly brittle like the taste of stale chocolate. Seungyoon didn't realize how easy it all was to fall into this toxic routine until one day the fabric of a regular shirt felt too stiff, nearly suffocating in its cheapness.

Seungyoon hates New York.

He sets the camera back down on the floor and tucks his covers over him with a sigh. Outside the window, there’s signs of life even in the dead of cold- the honking of early morning commuters and the sounds of shovels scraping snow off the frigid sidewalk- reminding him that there’s always somewhere to be- that there's more strange, human stories to be told.

Seungyoon loves New York.

It’s complicated.

 

 

 

Predictably Seungyoon gets told by several people that “it’s a dumb idea”- or maybe it’s only just Taehyun warbling on and on that “it’s a really _fucking_ dumb idea.” Seungyoon stopped paying attention after the fourth time or so, if he’s half honest.

Seungyoon’s fiddling with the settings on his camera when Taehyun’s angry middle part floods his vision.

“You can’t be the _Sartorialist_ when the _Sartorialist_ already exists.”

“I know,” Seungyoon nods. The pasta from the kitchen smells delicious and Seungyoon steps behind him, scooping a huge portion for himself. It’s not like he has to actively watch his weight anymore or anything. He settles down on the couch, pulling out a pen to scribble down ideas between bites.

Taehyung looks unamused. “If you wanted to be a street style blogger, you should have done it a decade ago when it was still a fresh idea and before everyone and their mother decided to take to the internet for style.”

But a decade ago things had been different.

In 2010, Seungyoon hadn’t even been into fashion. He’d worn baggy jeans and thought fedoras were stylish for god’s sake. No one cared. Vogue was about a vague a word as rocket science was to the average southern politician. Seungyoon wore brown boots with black pants and gave no fucks, because back then all he’d wanted to do was sing. He had dreamed of performing for the crowds first at the open square at Central Park and then in some stroke of wild, foolish youth dreamed about even Madison Square someday.

Two failed auditions at the preliminary rounds of American Idol shut that door pretty soundly, but not nearly as much as the disappointed glance Seungyoon’s mother had. Seungyoon’s family hadn’t been rich growing up and even now, Seungyoon’s situation didn’t exactly cry new money or old money or any kind of money sadly. They couldn’t have afforded to send him to Julliard for music like he’d dreamed of without the promise of steady income afterwards and even though NYU was expensive the financial aid and part-time modeling made it passable.

“I never took you as a band-wagoner,” Taehyun grovels past a spoonful of pasta and he makes it sound like the ultimate insult, which to Taehyun it might as well be, but Seungyoon’s mind keeps wandering back.

Back in 2010, music had meant everything to Seungyoon. He’d even tried buskering for a few brief, humiliating weeks in the plaza of Central park next to the fountain where tourists would stop for a few moments to drop a few coins in his upturned hat. The air had been frigid, nearly freezing the morning dew that clung to his guitar strings, but the people there had been warm- surprisingly supportive.

_Central Park_ , Seungyoon thinks. His fingers drum, restlessly against the wooden frame of the chair. He clicks his pen shut and moves off the couch, smirking a little when Taehyun begrudgingly follows him out the door.

 

 

 

The early morning of Central Park is filled with two kinds of people- the health juggernauts who are gung-ho enough to brave the New York cold in the name of fitness and the rarer soulless businessmen who carry enough contempt for the world for Seungyoon to steer far clear of as they brush past the two of them, chins tucked into their jackets like hooded vultures.

Neither of which make interesting photo subjects, and by default neither of which Seungyoon particularly cares for.

“No one wears anything photo worthy in Central Park,” Taehyun points out evenly. He’s shivering furiously. “Unless you’re looking into fashion blogging for Nike.”

“I’m not,” Seungyoon defends, but he lowers his camera by a clear half foot. “We could try Columbia?”

“Only if you’re into prep style now,” Taehyun yawns. For Seungyoon’s sake he tags along, but at a minimum of 4 steps behind.

“I’m not,” Seungyoon repeats. He turns on his heel, weaving away from the small group of runners to step into the main square. By this season, the fountain has been turned off for good.

“Why are we even here Seungyoon?” Taehyun asks, breath leaving his body in small puffs. “What were you even hoping to find?”

Seungyoon’s camera is up before he realizes it, capturing a flash of movement from the corner of his eyes. There’s a lone dancer in the corner of the square, dancing like it’s mid-summer in a thin long-sleeve and thread-bare track pants. Seungyoon wants to feel pity, but it’s frankly too cold to feel anything. His finger clicks down on the camera button as he catches the dancer mid spin.

“What are you,” Taehyun mumbles past the thickness of his woolen scarf. He sounds miserable. “ _Humans of New York_?”

Seungyoon chooses to ignore him, fixated on the lines of the dancer. Seungyoon’s seen plenty of street dancers before- some good, some bad. Seungyoon’s not a professional dancer by any means so he’s not exactly comfortable passing judgement, but the dancer in front of him is _good_. His movements are smooth, crisp yet fluid at the same time as he kicks his ragged sneakers against the ground to pop his legs forward and land smoothly on his knees.

Seungyoon walks in closer, ignoring Taehyun’s threats of ditching him in the middle of the park, until he’s close enough to see the dancer clearly. He looks about Seungyoon’s age, maybe older, maybe younger. Seungyoon’s always been told that he looks old for his age anyways.

It’s also hard to tell anything with how fast the dancer is moving. Seungyoon finds himself edging up closer and closer, watching the furrow of the dancer’s brows in utter fascination.

Seungyoon’s never been comfortable as a crowd of one before, but the dancer continues his routine as if Seungyoon doesn’t exist. He’s completely concentrated, breaths leaving his lanky frame like smoke from a spindly, gothic chimney.

Seungyoon stares, he can’t help it. It’s such a tourist moment for him, but he moves up even closer, coins in hand before he realizes there’s no hat on the floor. He twists around looking for a can of some sort, there’s always a can somewhere- but the ground before him is completely bare.

The dancer finally halts in his movements, panting slightly. His grey scarf twists a little in the wind, waving hello. Seungyoon makes a show of looking around. The frigid air captures his breath like a physical cloud of confusion as the dancer just nods, quirking an amused brow at Seungyoon’s cluelessness.

“Sorry,” Seungyoon stumbles, fumbling with his pockets to hide the spare change. The dancer beams, oblivious or too kind to humiliate Seungyoon for his blunder.

“I take tip,” he says, eyes crinkling and Seungyoon stands dumbly unsure what to do. His fingers fumble with his camera, feeling the frostbite settle. Dancer guy eyes him with a small smirk. It’s not unkind but it leaves Seungyoon flushing in embarrassment all the same.

“Photos will cost money though,” he jokes, raising his arms to form a protective x in front of him. Seungyoon opens his mouth to protest when the dancer smiles, grin crooked. “Just kidding. Here in New York, you can treat me like a lamp post. I’m one with the park- a real attraction.”

“Sorry, I’m...I’m not a tourist,” Seungyoon coughs dryly. From the looks of it, he’s completely lost Taehyun who at this point has probably left him for the shelter of the visitor center or some coffee shop classier than Starbucks, though he’ll probably have to take the subway for that. Seungyoon can’t blame him, it’s fucking freezing outside.

“Oh really?” dancer guy says animatedly. He steps forward quickly, so far into Seungyoon’s personal space that Seungyoon might have stepped back straight into the empty fountain if he’d been any more startled. “My bad.”

“Not your fault that traffic is slow this morning,” Seungyoon gestures to the completely empty square around them. There’s not even a half-frozen pigeon to accompany them, which is honestly a little eerie.

“So... is this like _Humans of New York_?” Dancer guy asks, squinting at Seungyoon suspiciously. “You take my picture and then ask about my life story.”

“Sort of,” Seungyoon laughs. “You looked interesting.”

“Interesting huh,” he echoes, giving Seungyoon a quick once-over. “Interesting enough to take out for coffee?”

His tone is teasing, but Seungyoon finds himself flushing. He realizes how he must look- dressed like a New Yorker in drab, grey tones yet accompanied by a gigantic, historical camera slung around his neck, making the overall portrait resemble an unglamorous vintage collection gone wrong.

No wonder Taehyun left him to freeze to death alone.

“Sure,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets. His fingertips feel numb, from being frozen to the cold metal of his camera. Coffee sounds amazing right now, maybe dancer guy will even offer to pay (although judging from the state of his clothes and if the patchiness of his scarf is any indication, Seungyoon's out of luck this round).

“I’m Seunghoon by the way. In case you’re going to write this down somewhere,” he says over his shoulder. Seungyoon just stares back at him, as he continues chattering to the empty park around them. “How do you feel about Starbucks?”

 

 

 

Starbucks is the greatest place on earth.

Seungyoon bursts through the double glass doors with as much grace he can muster, which isn’t much consider that all of his limbs have more or less lost all feeling, and settles into a chair at an empty table. The numbness of his fingers is almost painful, and the thawing process even worse.

He shakes his hand with a wince, wiping the cold sweat ( _or is it condensation?_ ) clinging to his fingers and brings his hands back into a prayer position cupping the holy grail of warm paper-fiber and pumpkin spice. For a moment, Seungyoon's glad Taehyun isn't here to judge him on his coffee choice. Pumpkin Spice is a classic, thank you very much.

“Seungyoon,” he hears a voice read over his shoulder. Seunghoon squints at him, a smile playing on his face. “Hey our names are kind of similar.”

“They are.” He gives a half-shrug, raising one shoulder slightly. “You don’t meet that many Seung-anythings around here. Unless you’re in Korea Town.” Seungyoon pulls out a small moleskin and pen out of his bag, watching Seunghoon make his way around the table before taking a seat opposite of him. There’s something snagging at the back of Seungyoon’s mind, the lack of drawl in Seunghoon’s words that begs for recognition although Seungyoon can’t pinpoint it at the moment.

“Where’s that?” Seunghoon laughs, a sarcastic note in his tone and there it is again. Seungyoon squints at him in confusion before he clarifies.

“Yeah. I’m a tourist,” Seunghoon says, raising both hands in a guilty gesture. “Although not technically anymore, I moved here about two months ago.”

Seungyoon nods, jotting notes down on the empty page as Seunghoon continues explaining. “Born and raised over in the boring Mid-West. I don’t sound like it, but come back in a few months and I’ll be real New York material.”

Seungyoon clicks his pen shut, mouth forming the syllables before he can help it. “Me too.”

“You’re from the Midwest?” Seunghoon exclaims after a moment, a fond look of recognition settling in his eyes. Seungyoon pauses and listens closely for the slight shift between Seunghoon’s syllables that mirrors Seungyoon’s own hidden accent.

“Chicago,” Seungyoon admits, leaning in. “I grew up around there.”

“I couldn’t tell that you were from Chicago. I mean, you sound pretty much like a New Yorker to me.” Seunghoon says.

“And you called me a tourist,” Seungyoon says dryly. He eyes the drink in Seunghoon’s hands, blanching at the sheer amount of whipped cream piled on top. Seunghoon follows his gaze and shrugs.

“You looked lost,” he explains matter of fact-ly. “What kind of New Yorker gets lost in Central Park still?”

_Jinwoo_ , Seungyoon thinks without malice, but Jinwoo still gets lost just about everywhere in New York, including the inside of their own apartment. It had taken a few years to get used to, but Seungyoon's lost count of how many times he’s nearly filed some variation of a missing person report in the time they lived together.

“I wasn’t lost,” he defends. Seunghoon scoffs and crosses one leg over the other- universal language for ‘ _pull the other leg_ ’. Seungyoon continues studiously jotting down notes in the moleskin until the page runs out of room.

Seunghoon makes a show of looking around. “I feel like I’m getting pranked. Where’s your camera crew? Do I smile over that corner for candid camera?”

“It’s not a prank,” Seungyoon sighs, watching Seunghoon animatedly crane his neck to perform a 360 degree sweep of entire coffee shop. It’s a hilarious image and Seungyoon half wishes there were some sort of camera crew to capture that motion as Seunghoon finally stops fidgeting and settles into his armchair, satisfied.

“So how does this interview work then?” Seunghoon asks.

“I’m still mapping that out,” Seungyoon replies without missing a beat. “I figured we could just try to have a conversation.”

Seunghoon nods, expression still incredulous although much more unguarded. “That sounds fair. I’m your first?”

Seunghoon waggles his brows playfully. The double entendre is clear as day, but Seungyoon is a professional. He’s stared down wolf-whistles and lascivious once-overs behind a camera for years without blinking, he can handle some easy flirting over coffee.

“Yes. Yes you are.” Seungyoon wonders idly if this means there’ll be a second. And then maybe even a third. He swallows quickly and hopes Seunghoon can’t see read the uneasiness on his face. Outside the window, the cold is fogging up the glass. Seunghoon takes a moment to lean up against it, breathing against it before he scribbles tiny hearts into the glass.

Seungyoon wants to bring his camera up, but something in him stills. His camera bumps into his chest with every movement, forming a steady rhythm against his chest not unlike the one Seunghoon nods his head to as their coffee on the table grows colder by the minute.

 

 

 

On the 25th day of Seungyoon's self-declared vacation (read: unemployment streak), Taehyun of all people pays him an unexpected visit.

"Jesus it's cold in here," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself.

"It's colder out there," Seungyoon says diplomatically. "Please shut the door."

Jinwoo's hidden under a bundle of blankets on the couch, squeaking as Taehyun tosses his satchel on his face.

"What's up?" Seungyoon says, tone careful as Taehyun seats himself down at the kitchen island with a heavy sigh. Taehyun circles around, restless as he sticks his head into their fridge.

"Wine isn't supposed to go in the fridge," Taehyun frowns before he settles back down with a bottle in hand. He pours himself a generous amount into Seungyoon's holiday mug and knocks it back in a single gulp.

"Wine isn't supposed to be treated like that," Seungyoon points out, wilting a little under Taehyun's scathing gaze.

"I know," Taehyun says, pouring himself another drink. He takes a sip this time. "I quit."

Seungyoon wants to ask why, but watching the moody shadow take up permanent residence between Taehyun's eyebrows makes him swallow his thoughts before they make it out.

"It's okay," Jinwoo says, smile tight. He nods encouragingly. "They fired me. And Seungyoon. We both got fired."

"Our contracts got cut," Seungyoon corrects. Getting fired makes them sound like the trashy models that showed up on set, drunk and high out of their minds- cursing and screaming at the make-up teams.

"I remember," Taehyun says, voice dull. "I mean. I've been meaning to quit, but I just didn't think I would actually do it so soon."

He leans down onto his elbows, fingers digging into his temples. His hair sways slightly, dipping down to cast shadows on his face like a pair of perfectly even curtains. Taehyun tugs at them on instinct, fingers curling into the sides.

“It’s 2019, Taehyun,” Seungyoon says as Jinwoo solemnly hands Taehyun a pair of kitchen scissors. Seungyoon has no idea how long he's been holding them. “You don’t have to wear a middle part anymore.”

Seungyoon holds his breath.

“I know I don’t,” Taehyun says softly. “I just haven’t decided what I wanted to do with this- _this_.”

He pulls at his hair slightly, pushing it back and messing up that perfect 5:5 symmetry that took the stylist hours to partition. Without the aid of gel, his hair stands up in fluffy strands, harmless.

“It’s time,” Jinwoo says, staring so intently at Taehyun’s classic hairstyle as if he could make it disappear with his imagination. Taehyun takes the scissors in his hands and raises it like he’s making a toast.

“To 2020,” he says, voice bright. “I hope we fucking get hired somewhere.”

"Amen," Seungyoon echoes as Jinwoo makes joking prayer hands to the ground, eyes going wide as Taehyun makes a tentative first cut. The first chunk of hair hits the ground, crinkling the plastic bag Seungyoon had laid beneath their feet earlier. Only about half of the hair actually lands in the bag, but Seungyoon isn’t overly pained about having to clean this up when Taehyun's in the middle of his existential crisis.

Another snip, another crinkle. Taehyun's eyebrows quirk up, before he breaks out into an incredulous laugh. Slowly, Seungyoon pries the scissors out of his hand, fingers closing over the steel. As rough as modeling had been, it had been nice to have a job.

Nothing solidifies that sentiment as strongly as the sensation of dread Seungyoon feels as he spends the remainder of the night staring at his empty word document. There is no article- no words on the page or _anywhere_ in Seungyoon's mind. The blinking i-bar taunts him well into the night, a steady tempo of flashing that Seungyoon finds his fingers tapping along to. It's a little upsetting how difficult this is, the writing part of course- which makes sense because Seungyoon’s a _musician_ , not a writer.

Half past 3, he closes out the untitled document and flops over on his side, shivering. Their heater is broken for good. Jinwoo’s taken to boiling hot water on the stove to keep the inside of the apartment slightly above freezing, although Seungyoon’s pretty sure at this point, climbing inside the fridge might be a better way to keep warm. Taehyun's half-passed out on the couch outside under a sea of blankets, his new hair a veritable uneven mess, but somehow it makes him look younger, wild even.

Seungyoon shivers, cocooning the blankets around him tighter. The cold settles into his limbs as forcibly as sleep does. Seungyoon stares at his ceiling and listens to the city sounds fade into the background.

_Central Park_ , he thinks. _There will still be Central Park and tomorrow._

 

 

 

Seunghoon's in the square again, dancing in his own world. This time around the weather is more forgiving- no longer chilling to the bone, but still cold enough that Seungyoon doesn't leave the apartment until he's properly swaddled up in three full layers and thermal underwear, because thermal underwear is the best fucking invention of the century.

Seunghoon in comparison is wearing practically nothing, but the heat of the crowd seems to keep him energized- body surging back and forth like a flame reaching out to feed off the crowd's enthusiasm the way a fire eats up dry tinder. Seungyoon sticks to the edge of the crowd this time, the weight of his camera around his neck like an anchor.

"You don't seem to take that many photos," Seunghoon calls out, half-teasing, when he spots Seungyoon after finishing his routine. He walks forward, slinging an arm around Seungyoon, and Seungyoon can practically feel the heat radiating off of him like a living, breathing furnace. Seunghoon’s a pretty touchy, feely guy. It's not a bad thing if Seungyoon is half-honest.

"Nothing really worth taking photos of today," Seungyoon replies back, trying to sound enigmatic, but all he gets is a teasing pout from Seunghoon.

"Here, I'll do a spin," Seunghoon offers, bouncing up on his feet. "Pick a good angle for me please."

“No thank you,” Seungyoon says immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. Seunghoon does one anyways, arms lifting in a half-assed arc that still manages to look effortlessly graceful captured on Seungyoon’s tiny camera screen. Life’s not fair like that sometimes. Seungyoon’s spent nearly 7 years of his life modeling and learning where his best angles were, but still can’t manage to take a flattering candid.

“Did you get it?” Seunghoon says excitedly, peeking over his shoulder. Seungyoon shrugs him off, turning his camera off.

"Why don't you ever dance with any music?" he asks. Seunghoon quirks a brow at him. "Don't really need it. I like dancing enough."

"Oh really?" Seungyoon asks. Seunghoon shrugs. "It's mostly cause I'm lazy I guess. Stereos are heavy and I can't exactly pay a live band to come out here, you know?" He grins. “How is my article going by the way?”

“Fine,” Seungyoon lies through his teeth. He straightens up, pulling his coat back up to his throat. "I'll let you know soon."

He turns back, smile plastered on, but seeing Seunghoon’s enthusiastic wave only makes the guilt in his stomach churn _more_.

 

 

 

By night, the mild weather turns into a freak storm. Outside the wind is howling, a low haunting whistle that guilt-trips Seungyoon into staring into his blank word doc for the next three hours. Jinwoo's on the couch watching some re-runs of Friends, pressed up next to Seungyoon. Taehyun's curled up on the armchair opposite of them, half-snoozing, teeth chattering in the cold.

Ever since he quit his job, he’s practically been living on the couch at Seungyoon and Jinwoo’s apartment. Seungyoon isn’t one to complain, especially since Taehyun can actually cook a half-decent meal without setting something on fire.

The laptop on his lap is warm, comforting even as Seungyoon closes out the word doc with a click that feels all too satisfying. The wind howls against his window, a low groan meshed with ice, as Seungyoon rises from the couch, careful not to unbalance Jinwoo as he heads into his room. He's not sure what possesses him to dig his hand under the bed for a second time in the past month. In the darkness, Seungyoon can only feel around, patting the ground in patient strokes until his fingers bump into what he's looking for.

Carefully, he slides it out. The item in his hand feels fragile, positively rustic with how long it hasn’t seen the daylight. Seungyoon gives it a gentle pat, leaning down to blow the dust off the strings.

He ends up inhaling half of it, choking in the cold air. The burn of it feels good, nearly as refreshing as the weight of the guitar feels on his lap.

 

 

 

No one leaves the apartment for the next few days, which is just as well because the roads are completely snowed in. No one wants to leave either, with the exception of Jinwoo who suggests going on a grocery run, but Seungyoon only shakes his head, afraid of actually losing Jinwoo out there under a sea of fraught ice.

By mid-week, there’s a mild break in the weather. A fair morning of 50 degrees where the only ice visible is the remaining chunks from the last storm, stubbornly melting on the edges of the sidewalk. Despite that, Seungyoon feels chilled to the bone- guitar in hand as he stands dumbly on the edge of the plaza.

Central Park is flooded with people- New York natives and visitors all the same. Part of Seungyoon wants to turn and flee, tuck this half-baked idea behind him and never return, but Seunghoon catches him before that.

"Seungyoon!" he calls, neck craning out of his black turtleneck. From this angle his neck looks impossibly long. "Nice guitar, man."

"Thanks," Seungyoon smiles stiffly.

“C’mon play me something,” Seunghoon goads, but the curiosity in his voice is genuine.

The guitar strings feel rough, brick stiff as Seungyoon presses down on the bar. It’s been so long that his guitar callouses have all vanished, leaving the tips of his fingers vulnerable and pink as they strum around aimlessly.

“What are you playing?” Seunghoon asks seriously, leaning in close.

“Just some chords. I need to tune it first.” Seungyoon’s fingers feel warm, either from pain or pure friction. Seunghoon nods in approval.

"Give me a beat so I can dance," Seunghoon says, rising to his feet to stretch. Seungyoon keeps his eyes trained to the guitar strings, away from Seunghoon's ass currently presented in front of him as Seunghoon bends down to touch his toes.

"Guitars don't work like that," Seungyoon huffs. His cheeks feel warm, stomach fluttering in anxiety. The only song he can remember at the moment is embarrassingly enough, Wonderwall. But there's no way in hell Seungyoon is about to break into song, much less Wonderwall, in the middle of Central Park.

"Sure they do," Seunghoon nods, encouragingly. He hums a low, off-pitch note- laughing as Seungyoon wrinkles his nose.

"Play me something then," Seunghoon pleads, eyes round. He's not cute, Seungyoon thinks, fingers curling up against his guitar neck. Seunghoon clings onto him, swaying back and forth like a koala. "Please. Please please please."

"Okay okay, fine. It's been a long time, okay. I mean, I don't even remember any songs anymore and I was never actually even that good," Seungyoon rambles. He's acutely aware of a small crowd gathering in front of them in interest. The argument in his mind, curls up and dies in his throat. Seunghoon just keeps beaming in expectation and Seungyoon finally caves like the sucker that he is.

He clears his throat, scanning the crowd.

_Please love yourself_ , Taehyun's voice sounds in his head. Seungyoon swallows, gulping down the chilly air and the last of his apprehension.

"Anyway," he says, eyes trained on Seunghoon's bright expression. He's never going to live this down.

" _Here's_...Wonderwall."

 

 

 

"Well, I couldn't really dance to Wonderwall," Seunghoon points out for the 5th time or so as Seungyoon determinedly burrows his head even deeper into his arms the minute they escape out of the park. He gives Seungyoon a consoling pat that sends warmth trailing down Seungyoon's back. "But besides that it was really really good! Maybe I should be the one writing an article about you. I mean that was pretty interesting."

"That was _interesting_?" Seungyoon echoes, bending his knees in even tighter. His ass is starting to hurt, pressed against the stone cold ground. Seunghoon tugs at his arm and Seungyoon turns slightly, exposing one side of his face to the growing cold.

"I guess, yeah," Seunghoon says thoughtfully. "You show up with a camera on your neck. You tell me you’re an _aspiring_ journalist or something, but in truth you're actually a musician."

"I'm not a musician," Seungyoon says, turning back to burrow his face into the shadows. Seunghoon pokes at his cheek.

"Well then you should be," he says, completely ignoring Seungyoon's attempts at suffocating himself. "You were really good out there!"

"Nah. I've tried," Seungyoon admits sullenly. "Didn’t work out. So now it's just a hobby."

"Doesn’t mean you should stop trying. I mean, you really like music, huh," Seunghoon muses. He lights up for a moment, digging something out of his back pocket.

"Wait! You should come to this!" he says, slapping a wrinkled flyer into Seungyoon's palm. Seungyoon slowly lifts his head

_Hugeboy Mino_ , Seungyoon reads, face carefully blank. The printed face on the paper stares solemnly back at him. "Who's this?"

"He's a friend of mine. He does music," Seunghoon says excitedly. Seungyoon perks up immediately. "I mean, he's sort of kind of a musician? I'm not sure, he raps underground, but he also produces songs. He’s looking to assemble some sort of team. Music enthusiasts and anyone interested, really."

"I see." Seungyoon doesn't have the heart to tell him that rap really isn't his style.

"He's signed onto a label recently so he's having one last gig underground," Seunghoon continues boasting, puffing out his chest. "You should come. The show is free _and_ it has an open bar."

"I'm not sure," Seungyoon says, milling around. The hesitation in his voice wavers at the sight of Seunghoon's shoulders deflating.

"It's an _open_ bar," Seunghoon repeats. He stares at Seungyoon intently.

"Okay, fine," Seungyoon shrugs, dragging himself to his feet. Seunghoon rushes up like he's going to hug Seungyoon, but he stops short- eyes going impossibly huge as he stares past Seungyoon to the opposite end of the street.

“Whoa,” Seunghoon says, taking a step back. He takes a long look at Seungyoon, before turning back to scrutinize something across the street from them. Seunghoon tugs on his sleeve, eyes wide. "Whoa."

Seungyoon follows his gaze over expecting someone famous strolling down the street surrounded by fans and paps, but all he sees instead is _himself_.

Seungyoon blinks slowly and yep, that’s his face- photoshopped into the realm of perfection, but not quite enough out of the realm of recognition for Seungyoon to be spared. Seunghoon just keeps gaping at him like a one of those exaggerated fish cartoons. "Holy shit. That’s you isn’t it?”"

“Uh yeah,” Seungyoon says a little lamely. Seungyoon on the board is half-dressed, his shirt untucked and his hair unruly. It's an embarrassing shot, and a really old one if Seungyoon's memory serves him correctly.

“You're...a model,” Seunghoon blathers, mouth wide. "I was," Seungyoon corrects readily. "I quit a little while ago."

Seunghoon snorts, face slowly coming back to life. "So you're not a journalist or a photographer or a musician, but a _model_. I sure didn't see that one coming."

"Thanks," Seungyoon says dryly.

"Not that you're ugly or anything," Seunghoon amends wildly. He flaps his arms around him, nearly hitting Seungyoon in the face. "Sorry, you're not ugly, that came out all wrong. I think you're pretty cute actually."

"Thanks," Seungyoon repeats. They stand in silence for a little bit as Seunghoon studies Seungyoon's image on the board.

"Is that why you gave up music? It must have been pretty glamorous, huh," Seunghoon says softly. It's not a question, but Seungyoon shrugs back in response, watching Seunghoon's eyes flicker back and forth between the two Seungyoons. Finally, he looks back at the real Seungyoon with new respect, a glorified distance that Seungyoon isn’t sure he likes. "Why'd you quit?"

"It really wasn't that great," Seungyoon says. "I mean the pay was fine, but I couldn't do it forever, you know?"

Seunghoon nods in understanding. "Why'd you do it in the first place then?"

"Bills," Seungyoon says simply. It sounds endlessly shallow for him to say it like this, but it doesn’t make it any less true. "Tuition. Lots of bills. The job paid well, but I was just ready for something new."

The paper in Seungyoon's hand flutters a little as Seunghoon turns to grin at him. "Something new?"

"Yeah," Seungyoon breaths, a million questions on his mind- _so why exactly was Seunghoon here? What has he been doing all his life? What brought him to New York out of the blue at the age of 26 with nothing but a crazy dream to dance-_

He has so many questions teetering on the edge of his lips when the first wave of freezing rain hits them both by surprise.

 

 

 

It's weird seeing Seunghoon outside of Central Park.

Seungyoon's gotten so used to him dancing along the edges of the plaza that to him Seunghoon is practically a natural fixture to the park, as iconic as Lady Liberty out on the horizon of New York Harbor, but here he is- swaddled up to his neck in blankets on Seungyoon's couch.

"I can't believe how cold it gets here," Seunghoon says, teeth chattering behind blue-tinged lips. He's in one of Seungyoon's old NYU hoodies from college, hair still damp from the sleet-rain storm. Seungyoon dumps a blanket on him, one of Jinwoo's.

"You're from Chicago," Seungyoon scolds and Seunghoon grimaces. "That means I can handle wind, not survive in a literal slushie mixer."

"Same thing," Seungyoon retorts. He pushes a pillow behind his neck, leaning back with a satisfied sigh at the same time Seunghoon shifts forward, his cold toes pressing against Seungyoon's ankle.

"Dude," Seungyoon groans, scooting back to his half of the couch. Seunghoon cackles. He follows Seungyoon to the end of the couch, forcibly snuggling against him. He wraps his long arms around Seungyoon and Seungyoon pushes back at him half-heartedly. Aside from his damp hair and toes, the rest of Seunghoon is inexplicably warm.

It's not entirely unpleasant.

Seungyoon’s done his fair share of traveling. Within the past two years he’s been to London for the fall, Rome in the spring and then back to New York in time for the next fashion season, but nothing’s ever felt as foreign as the feeling of Seunghoon pressed up against his arm- a small line of drool escaping his lips and the warm, crippling fondness that gives way to Seungyoon’s smile.

It’s a little crazy how much warmth a single extra body can exude. Seungyoon tucks himself on the opposite end of the couch, cramped up to his elbows, but still manages to sleep better than he has in weeks.

 

 

 

Without warning, the apartment heater starts working again in the first week of December. A true Christmas miracle.

“It feels a little like fate,” Jinwoo muses dreamily. Behind him Taehyun pretends to vomit, but even he can't help but smile as the first breath of warm air in weeks wafts its way down from the vents to grace their bone-cold fingers.

They cook up a storm in the kitchen in celebration.

Taehyun brings gluten-free pancake mix. Seungyoon burns eggs, in an attempt to make half-assed sunny side up that literally goes up in flames. Jinwoo buys discount donuts and through all of it, Seunghoon watches them all with a fond smile like he’s been living here as their friend for ages.

Jinwoo takes to him almost immediately, smiling widely at Seunghoon's attempted jokes. Taehyun takes a little longer, but Seungyoon takes it as a win when Seunghoon attempts to feed him bits of his pancake and Taehyun doesn't protest.

“I’m going to get fat,” Taehyun sighs into his frying pan. Seunghoon just gives him a ridiculous smile, before stuffing another piece of the pancake into his mouth. To their left, Jinwoo’s debating between two different donuts, weighing them in his outstretched palms as if they’ve got the answer to the universe hidden inside.

“You should just eat both,” Seunghoon jokes and the light hits Jinwoo’s eyes with a gleam.

The expression on Taehyun’s face goes dark just as quickly, but by then Jinwoo’s already made his move, swallowing the one in his right hand with a huge gulp. Seungyoon follows in suit, hands nearly shaking in anticipation as he stuffs his own donut in all its glazed glory down his mouth as Taehyun numbly stares at them both. It’s crazy how their tiny apartment for two feels so much more alive with an extra two squatters living on their couch.

“Your turn. Say ahhhh,” Seunghoon coos, flying a piece of donut on a fork towards Taehyun’s mouth. Taehyun to his credit doesn’t flinch, swallowing the mouthful down like bitter medicine. Seungyoon watches the grimace slowly spread itself on Taehyun’s face as he weaves past Seunghoon to reach a hand into a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of wine.

They’re free men now.

 

 

 

They eat lunch until 6pm, long past the time the sun goes down and Seungyoon is tipsy from all the wine and laughter. It hits him that a little belatedly that this is how he should have been living all this time- warm, happy, and surrounded with friends.

“The heater works again,” Seungyoon says to no one in particular. Jinwoo’s snoring lightly on the armchair opposite of them. “I’m never leaving home again.”

“Good for you,” Taehyun notes, taking another swig right from the bottle. He’s flushed a happy red all the down to where his collarbones peek out of his shirt. He flops over to his side, crushing Seungyoon’s arm.

“Ugh,” Seungyoon groans, pushing Taehyun off him. The only result he gets is Taehyun slumping down even farther on the couch, effectively displacing Seungyoon. He stumbles forward, casting an irritated glance at Taehyun, but Taehyun’s eyes are already shut, chin tucked over a pillow.

Seungyoon sighs loudly, catching Seunghoon’s attention.

“I’ve got room here,” he says, patting his lap with a lazy wink. Seungyoon laughs, gesturing over his shoulder. “Yeah, well I’ve got a bed. And a room.”

Seunghoon’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. Seungyoon flushes as he realizes the implications of his words, but Seunghoon just cranes his head down the hallway. “Is that your room?”

“Yeah,” Seungyoon answers, dragging himself down the hallway. He’s not that drunk, but the hallway seems longer than he’s used to for some reason. “I don’t go in there often. It’s too cold.”

Seunghoon shrugs, wobbling to his feet. He presses past Seungyoon and knocks gently on the door in front of him. Seungyoon gives him his best ‘ _did you really just_ ’ look and pushes down on the doorknob.

The heater has done wonders to everything in the apartment. Seungyoon’s bedsheets appear to have finally thawed and they’re almost passably soft when he flops down onto his bed. Seunghoon lets out a soft sigh, smiling fondly at Seungyoon as he stretches his limbs out comfortably beside him.

It vaguely registers to Seungyoon how weird all of this has progressed. Seunghoon is in all purposes still a stranger, a random dancer that Seungyoon pulled off the streets and onto his couch to avoid the rain. Seungyoon at the start of the year would have been too paranoid, too closed off and jaded to even imagine doing such a thing. Yet here they are, Seungyoon and Seunghoon lying on a bed.

“You look surprised,” Seungyoon says after a moment. His head sinks into his pillow as he turns to look at Seunghoon.

“I don’t know,” Seunghoon says. “I think I was expecting a bit more life inside.You know. Fashion spreads, magazines of yourself on the walls. Maybe a few bands?”

He’s got a point. Seungyoon’s walls are bare- left undecorated from the time he was too busy modeling and then continually neglected as he was busy angsting about his lack of work and his life in general. It’s fitting though given that Seungyoon’s spent so long wandering around aimlessly, bouncing from one job and hobby to the next.

“You expect a lot,” Seungyoon says, kicking out at Seunghoon as he rolls in closer, invading into Seungyoon’s half of the bed.

“You gave me a lot of expectations,” he flirts back. He rolls onto his back, half crushing Seungyoon’s shoulder beneath him. Seunghoon is warm, heavy and comfortable as he snuggles in closer. He lays his head down on Seungyoon’s chest and Seungyoon feels the pressure steadily pushing down on his lungs- the knowledge of the lie he’s carried out for so long accompanied with the idea that Seunghoon can hear every beat of his heart, loud and deceitful, mixed into every breath.

“The article doesn’t exist,” Seungyoon blurts out suddenly. “I don’t work for Humans of New York. I don’t work for anything, actually."

Seunghoon shifts, angling his head towards Seungyoon’s. His hair is a flying mess splayed out across Seungyoon’s shirt. “Okay."

"Okay?" Seungyoon echoes incredulously. In the lowlight Seunghoon looks gorgeous, his face obscured by shadows and the crooked mirth playing on his lips.

“Yeah?” Seunghoon’s eyes are crinkled at the corners. He’s laughing.

“There is no article,” Seungyoon repeats, emphasizing each syllable. He’s a little drunk. Seunghoon’s drunker. No one can make sense of anything, but then Seunghoon leans over, half-balanced on the bed, half-propped up on Seungyoon’s chest.

“Doesn’t make you any less interesting and it sure doesn’t make me any less _interested_ ,” Seunghoon giggles, hiccupping slightly before he presses into Seungyoon. Seunghoon's lips are dry, wind-chapped from the cold. Seungyoon can't tell if the alcohol he tastes is from him or Seunghoon. He gets his answer soon enough when Seunghoon's tongue, wet and warm, slips into Seungyoon's mouth and Seungyoon tips his head back, surprising himself for the second time tonight.

 

 

 

_2020_

 

The New York morning is young. Oddly enough so is Seungyoon. He’s turning 26 in two weeks, jobless and a little jaded, but still young enough to starve for a few meals- still hungry enough to mess up his dreams and fuck around, and make it home in time to microwave some dinner and press himself into his raggedy couch with Seunghoon's arms wrapped around him.

It's a nice feeling.

Spring is around the corner. Seungyoon watches the icicles drip sluggishly onto the pavement below, scribbling notes into his moleskin. His stomach grumbles loudly and he looks over at Seunghoon who gets up from the couch dutifully to wander into the kitchen. He digs the carton of eggs out of the fridge and starts up the stove. Seungyoon hears the door open from down the hallway, suppressing a snicker.

“Morning sunshine,” Seunghoon calls, watching Taehyun stumble into the kitchen. It’s 5pm, and the sunset outside makes it feel like dawn. He takes a seat down next to Seungyoon, sluggishly peering over his shoulder to the pile of CDs in Seungyoon’s hand.

They’re Hugeboy Mino’s latest tracks, or that’s what Seungyoon hopes they’ll end up. He’s never tried his hand at hiphop before, but there’s a first time for everything. Seunghoon’s busy scribbling track numbers on each with a sharpie, labeling each with a steady hand. In addition to the track numbers he’s doodled a good number of random titles and strange drawings on the CD’s something Seungyoon’s not sure he approves of but Seunghoon adamantly argues that _Hugeboy Mino_ appreciates.

“Humans of Not York,” Taehyun reads blearily, running a hand through his hair. 2 months later and it's still slightly shorter on one side. Seungyoon doesn't have the heart to tell him. “Are you two fucking high?”

“No?” Seunghoon’s laugh is almost giddy. “But we’re fuck-“

Seungyoon slaps a hand over his mouth in half-jest, half-horror, watching the expression on Taehyun’s face go flatter than humanly possible.

“Don’t finish that,” Taehyun warns, slumping down onto the table. He glares at Seungyoon behind the cracks between his fingers as Seungyoon dutifully places the bottle of advil in front of him with his free hand. Just beyond them, Jinwoo is stirring awake on the couch.

“Thanks,” Taehyun half-mumbles, swallowing a tablet down dry. “But really, are you two?”

“We’re fucking,” Seungyoon announces plainly right as Seunghoon pounces on his hesitation to lick a wet, slobbery streak all over his palm.

Behind them the eggs catch on fire on the stove. Seunghoon turns to Seungyoon and grins, pulling the fire extinguisher from the cabinet beneath the sink and running to the rescue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> +++ given that i have absolutely zero modeling experience and have never lived in nyc, i did a ton of research for this fic and relied on the internet to teach me the wonders of the world- most notably: [25 best street style blogs](http://stylecaster.com/best-street-style-blogs/) [this piece about central park](http://nymag.com/nymetro/news/crimelaw/features/n_7836/) & various ex-modeling accounts [[x](http://www.cosmopolitan.com/style-beauty/fashion/advice/a4745/why-one-model-quit-modeling-at-fashion-week/)|[x](http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/fashion/models-eat-tissues-stay-thin-ex-vogue-editor-article-1.1306592)] (tw: body image, eating disorders)
> 
>  
> 
> and lastly, CAUSE MAYBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
> 


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